


Watch it, Web Head!

by pogopop



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Brett is so over it, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Halloween, Hostage Situations, Peter just wants to see Matt, Post-Season/Series 03, Reunions, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop
Summary: Nelson, Murdock & Page was located above a butcher’s shop, which was a surprise. ‘Nelson’s Meats’ was emblazoned above the storefront, and there were models of a duck, a calf and a chicken in one window. The firm’s entrance was to the right, up a steep flight of stairs leading to two doors. The one straight ahead had a piece of paper hanging at an angle, which read ‘Private, no entry’. The door to the left was ajar, and had a matching handwritten sign, reading ‘Nelson, Murdock and Page.’Peter knocked on the half-open door, poking his head through when he heard a cheery, “Come in!” Foggy Nelson was walking towards him, a smile already on his face. “Hi! You must be Peter Parker. I’m Foggy Nelson, welcome to our offices.” Mr. Nelson stuck out his hand for Peter to shake.





	Watch it, Web Head!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [c_doves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_doves/gifts).



> Merry Christmas (or Boxing Day!) to c_doves. This was less DD than I expected, but I had fun with it. Enjoy!
> 
> \----------
> 
> Thank you to SleepyMoritz & BeaArthurPendragon for brainstorming and beta work.

Peter rifled nervously through the pockets of his bag. Camera, lenses, SD cards, batteries, dictaphone, notebook. Everything was there, just like the last time he’d looked. He zipped the pocket up again and patted it for luck. Then the train gave a lurch and Peter was thrown roughly against Ned’s arm.

“Dude! Aaah, no!” Ned dropped his phone into his lap, the screen showing that his character had just died.

“What? It wasn’t my fault.”

“I know. I know.” Ned looked up, peering at the window as though the blackness of the tunnel outside could reveal their location. “How much further?”

“Uh, five minutes, I think,” Peter said, checking his watch. Ned nodded and returned to his game.

Peter pulled out his phone and scrolled through his questions again, refreshing the list he’d already committed to memory. He jiggled his leg, nervousness creeping up his spine as the train sped ever closer to their stop. He wasn’t even sure if he’d see Red today, and it wasn’t the official purpose of his trip, but the hopeful expectation kept rising.

They exited the train at 42nd Street, sweeping up the stairs with the rush of bustling humanity. On the sidewalk Peter paused for a moment to orient himself  then started towards Hell’s Kitchen, casting upwards glances at the familiar buildings as they walked. On the Kitchen’s low roofs he picked out some of Red’s favourite haunts, like the water tower where they’d chatted half a dozen times. Red had been gone for so long that Peter had worried he’d died, which had devastated Peter. He had so few adults in his life that losing another was a real blow. Since Red and Matt Murdock had both resurfaced again, their paths hadn’t crossed.

Ned suddenly clutched Peter’s arm and Peter jumped. “Dude, look! A donut shop. Lawyers love donuts.”

“What? Isn’t that cops?”

“Nah, man. It’s lawyers.”

Peter shrugged. “A good idea either way, I guess.” He bought a small box of donuts, tucking it under his arm, and they walked off in search of the law offices.

Nelson, Murdock & Page was located above a butcher’s shop, which was a surprise. ‘Nelson’s Meats’ was emblazoned above the storefront, and there were models of a duck, a calf and a chicken in one window. The firm’s entrance was to the right, up a steep flight of stairs leading to two doors. The one straight ahead had a piece of paper hanging at an angle, which read ‘Private, no entry’. The door to the left was ajar, and had a matching handwritten sign, reading ‘Nelson, Murdock and Page.’

Peter knocked on the half-open door, poking his head through when he heard a cheery, “Come in!” Foggy Nelson was walking towards him, a smile already on his face. “Hi! You must be Peter Parker. I’m Foggy Nelson, welcome to our offices.” Mr. Nelson stuck out his hand for Peter to shake, his eyes flicking briefly across to Ned.

“Thanks, Mr. Nelson. Oh, uh, this is my friend, Ned Leeds. He’s just tagging along for the trip.” Ned waved, then shook Mr. Nelson’s hand when it was offered to him.

“Mr. Nelson is my father. Please, call me Foggy. So, how would you like to do this?” Peter looked around the small office space. There were three desks, all of them empty, and a closed door leading to another room, from where Peter could hear low voices. Listening closely, he picked up Red’s low rumble and he felt a jolt of excitement. Mr. Nelson saw him looking at the door and shook his head with a wry smile. “My partner’s in there, meeting with a client, I’m afraid. My other partner is out at present.” There was a bookcase against one wall, half-filled with books and what looked to be case files. Under the window was a tired-looking couch, which Ned had already claimed as his own.

“No, that’s okay, Mr. Nelson. I thought I’d just ask you some questions and then we could take some photos. It’s a little cramped in here, so maybe we could go out to the street for that.”

“Foggy, please. And sure thing. Here, pull up a pew.” Mr. Nelson - Foggy - gestured to a desk half-hidden under gusts of paper, with a chair in front of it. He took his own seat behind the desk and Peter reached to unsling his camera bag from his shoulder, finding the forgotten donuts.

“I forgot! Here, for you,” he said, passing the box over. “I really appreciate you taking time out of your day for me.” Foggy took the box and lifted the lid, his face splitting into a beatific smile.

“You’ve just made my day, Peter!” Foggy jumped up and retrieved two plates from a shelf, passing one to Peter before choosing a donut from the box. Peter took his own donut, then placed the box back on the desk. There was a muffled noise of objection from behind him, and he looked back to see Ned staring at him in bemusement. He passed the box to Ned, who took a donut then returned the box and settled back down, earbuds in place.

“Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I know that you’re a busy man, and a school newspaper isn’t quite _The Bulletin_.”

“Everyone matters,” Foggy said, and took a bite of his donut.

Peter smiled. “Do you mind if I record this?” Foggy shook his head, mouth full of donut, and waved his hand encouragingly. “Okay.” Peter placed the dictaphone on the desk between them and his phone with his questions on the edge of the desk, then took a deep breath. “Mr. Nelson - sorry, Foggy! Foggy, you’ve gained some media attention over the last few years, starting with the Punisher trial and more recently with your brief campaign for District Attorney and your claims against Wilson Fisk. Can you explain your motivations for seeking that attention, particularly with reference to Mr. Fisk?” Peter leaned forward expectantly.

Foggy choked slightly on his mouthful, and reached for a water glass on his desk. Peter felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t want Nelson to die on him. Foggy thumped his chest a couple of times, took another drink of water and smiled weakly at Peter. “You’re not beating around the bush, are you, buddy?” He leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Then he looked back at Peter, bluel eyes clear and focused, his cheerful attitude gone. “Do you know what it’s like when people around you are getting hurt, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it? And then you realise that _you_ are the one who has the ability to do something about it?”

Peter nodded.

“I had the means to do something. ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’” Foggy dropped his hands to his desk and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “A guy called Edmund Burke said that, and he was right. I couldn’t stand by. Media attention was a means to an end. And it worked.” He bit into the remainder of his donut.

Peter nodded again, looking down at his clasped hands then to the phone on the edge of the desk.

“So, the thing which blew open Wilson Fisk’s manipulation of the FBI was the video - Special Agent Ray Nadeem’s dying declaration. I believe you were instrumental in the discovery of this video?”

Foggy held Peter’s gaze for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “I was.”

“How did you come by the video?”

The corners of Foggy’s mouth curved slightly downwards, then he sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Peter, I can’t discuss that. Next question, please.”

Peter collected himself. He’d had the impression that Foggy Nelson was a big softie, but it appeared that that assessment had been somewhat cursory. Peter raised a hand, waving the question away.

“Sorry, okay. During this whole process, thinking back to when Detective Hoffman made his confession, and even before that, were you concerned for your safety?”

“Absolutely. I like being alive. And I like my family and friends alive.”

“But you didn’t give up?”

“No, Peter, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Fisk had Elena Cardenas killed. She was a good person. She didn’t have a voice because the people in power didn’t care. But she cared about her community and I cared about her.” Foggy’s voice caught and he paused and swallowed, then continued, his voice clear again. “Fighting a good fight and fighting a losing battle sometimes look like the same thing, and you can’t always tell which it is until you’re doing it.I knew that Fisk would hurt more people like her unless he was stopped.”

“Did you have help?”

“My partner, Matt Murdock, was involved in putting Fisk behind bars the first time. Obviously there were other people, such as former DA Reyes. And Hoffman’s testimony was vital. There’s always a large team required to push things through, but you don’t see all that from the outside. This time the NYPD were vital, particularly Detective Brett Mahoney. And of course my other partner, Karen Page, who is a persistent investigator.”

“It’s been rumoured that your firm has also had help from the vigilante known as Daredevil. Is this true?”

Foggy laughed, although it seemed a little strained. “Everyone wants to know that. And yes, we’ve had contact with him. So have the NYPD and the FBI. I don’t think he likes to get particularly close to anyone, though. I guess these pajama types like their privacy.” Peter felt himself flush slightly.

The door to the meeting room opened suddenly, and a small, neat, elderly woman walked out, followed by Red. Peter hadn’t seen him out of the suit before, and it was a change to see more of his face, hidden though his eyes were behind his glasses. He looked alive. He looked better than just alive, he looked strangely happy. Peter wasn’t sure he’d actually encountered a happy Red before. Red paused, a hand on the doorknob, and the woman turned back towards him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Matthew dear.”

Red smiled at her. “You’re welcome, Bess. I’ll see you on Thursday night.”

“You will.” She patted his arm and turned to go. “You too, Foggy.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Mahoney,” Foggy called after her as she walked out the door. Turning to Red he said “Matt, we’ve got a couple of visitors. Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Peter’s interviewing me for his school paper.”

Peter was vibrating with tightly-contained excitement. He knew that Red had known he was there before opening the door, but there had still been no acknowledgement of Peter’s presence. “Hello, Mr. Murdock,” he said, his voice betraying him by cracking on Red’s name.

“Yo, I’m Ned,” Ned piped up from the couch.

“Hello Peter, Ned.” Red turned his head to Foggy, a smirk creeping across his face. “Interviewing you? Are you sure you’ve got the right person, Peter?”

“Objection!” Foggy cried. “I’ll have you know I’m a respectable, upstanding member of the community. And a half-way decent lawyer to boot. And they brought donuts.”

Red screwed up his nose. “Those things will kill you.” He walked the short distance to one of the desks, his hand held out in front of him until his knuckles contacted the edge. He moved his hand across to the back of his chair, and sat down.

Peter swallowed. This was how it was going down. “I think the work you both did to expose Fisk was amazing, Mr. Murdock,” he said.

Red shook his head. “I can’t take credit for what Foggy did. He’s the one who bore the risk when he ran against Blake Tower and publicly criticised Wilson Fisk.”

“I did go viral,” Foggy boasted, palms held up and head tilted.

“That you did,” Red nodded, one side of his mouth twisting up in a smile.

“Peter was just asking me if Daredevil helped put Fisk back in jail.”

“Daredevil? And what did you say?”

“He’s had his uses, I guess,” Foggy said with a shrug. Red snorted and reached across his desk for paperwork. Peter looked between the two men, then back at Ned who had put his phone down and was watching as well. Red’s desk was much tidier than Foggy’s, with just three neat piles. He pulled the top folder off a low stack, sliding the pages out and running his fingers quickly over the raised bumps.

“I think vigilantes are cool,” Ned piped up from the couch.

Red’s eyebrows flicked slightly upwards in acknowledgement, but he continued reading, face tilted towards the paper in front of him. Peter looked at Foggy to find him looking back, questioningly.

“Oh, right. So, now that Fisk is away, hopefully permanently, what’s next?”

“Fisk is an extremely intelligent man, who was machinating on the inside. So while he may be physically behind bars he still needs close monitoring to ensure he never has any power again. And that is somewhat outside the area of what I can do as a private defense attorney. But as members of the public we can all push to keep Fisk locked up forever. We can all use our voices and we can show our support for DA Tower in the work that he is doing.”

“Do you plan to run again as DA?”

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye Peter saw Red twitch, and Foggy blushed slightly and looked down at his clasped hands..

“What is your focus now?”

“Matt and I initially set up our firm with the aim of helping the little guy. We did good work, but we took a hiatus…” Red cleared his throat, face still turned away, fingers flying over his papers. “And now that we’ve _re-established our firm_ we have a renewed focus. We’re home, to serve the good citizens of Hell’s Kitchen, and we’re here to stay.” Foggy smiled at Peter again, and reached in the box for another donut. “You sure you don’t want one, Matty?” he asked, waving the donut.

Red pulled a face. “I’m sure, Fog. I’ve got quinoa salad in the fridge.”

“Of course you do,” Foggy muttered. He took a bite of his donut and gave a low moan of pleasure. “Mmm, Raspberry! You’re missing out, buddy.” Red shivered lightly.

“That’s all my questions. Do you have anything you’d like to add?”

“Thank you for the donuts.”

Peter laughed and reached across to click off the dictaphone, which he stowed in his bag. He carefully lifted out his camera, turning it on and checking the settings, then he squinted out through the window. “The light’s really good. Shall we head out to the street?”

“Sure thing.” Foggy pushed back his chair and crossed to Matt, dropping a hand on to his shoulder. Red tilted his head to Foggy and gave him a small smile that was suprisingly tender. “Shall I come back with coffee?”

“Oh god, yes please.” Matt raised his hand to briefly cover Foggy’s then dropped it back to his work. Foggy squeezed his shoulder then removed his hand, walking over to open the door for Peter and Ned and ushering them through.

“Bye, Mr. Murdock,” Peter called as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Goodbye, Peter. Nice to meet you,” Red said, sitting back in his chair and smiling at them as though he’d never met Peter before.

“Later,” Ned added.

They walked down the steep, dim stairs, emerging onto the bustle of the street. Thankfully it wasn’t too busy and they could move around the sidewalk without interrupting the flow of foot traffic. Peter was able to line up a few shots of Foggy walking down the street then standing under a tree, his hands in his pockets. When Foggy confirmed that yes, Nelson’s Meats was a family business, Peter had him pose outside the shop with the sign visible above him.

Once he was satisfied that he had some good material, he stuck out his hand. “Thank you again, Foggy.”

Foggy took his hand, his handshake firm. “Any time, Peter. It’s a pity you missed Karen. She’s worked as a journalist, although she’s currently doing investigative work. I think I can safely say that if you need any tips in that line that she’d be happy for you to contact her.” He let go and rummaged in his pocket, producing a business card and offering it to Peter. “If we can help you in any way, please call.” Peter took the card, seeing _Nelson, Murdock & Page _ printed at the top with Foggy’s details below. He ran a thumb over the braille dots that crossed the card. “We have braille on all our cards. ADA compliance is something of a speciality for Matt. That’s just my name and number.”

“Do you have a card for Ms. Page?”

“Oh, uh, I think so.” Foggy pulled out his wallet and leafed quickly through it, pulling out a matching card for Karen. “I’ve also got Matt’s card, if you want it?”

Jackpot. Peter shrugged, trying to look casual. “Sure, why not? Mr. Murdock seemed friendly.” He was entirely aware that Red was probably listening.

“Don’t let his gruff exterior fool you. He’s a puppy underneath it all.”

Peter laughed. “I’ll send you the photo proofs, and a copy of the paper once we’ve published.”

Foggy nodded and smiled, raised a hand in farewell and turned and walked off, entering a coffee shop a few doors down. Peter turned back to Ned. “So. Food or train?”

“Food. Donuts are good, but I need real food.”

“Sweet. You choose.” Peter trailed after Ned, who was examining the store fronts around him, and pulled out his phone. He added Red to his phone contacts, and tapped out a text message.

**_Nice to see you, puppy dog_ **

**_It's Peter, by the way_ **

Almost immediately, he received a reply.

**_Watch it, Web Head_ **

Then, shortly after:

**_Might be a good night to enjoy the city_ **

Peter smiled, and wrote one more text.

**_I'll swing by for a visit later_ **

Then he shoved his phone in his pocket and hurried to catch up with Ned.

 

 

**_____**

 

The evening dragged. Over dinner, Peter caught May giving him a quizzical look, which drew his attention to the fact that he was tapping his fork on the side of his plate. But she didn’t ask him what was going on. After eating, Peter headed straight to his room, pleading homework. He really did have homework, but he knew he was going to struggle to focus on it. He copied the photos from the day from the SD card onto his computer, then went through them quickly, discarding the poorer ones. There were a couple that captured Foggy’s essence well, and Peter sorted and edited them. Once this task was finished he’d relaxed enough that he was able to start transposing the audio into a written document. Then he got to the point where Red had entered the room, and heard the soft, rumbly voice, and his stomach turned over again. It was nearly 11:30. Late enough that Peter could make his exit.

He pulled on his suit and slid up the window, surveying the street quickly before sneaking out the window and onto the roof. He checked his web shooters and then he was off, swinging through the cool night air, bound for Manhattan.

Once he reached Red’s home range he scooted quickly to the top of Red’s favourite water tower, and looked around. Things were quiet tonight, just low sounds from apartments and the odd honk from traffic on the street below. He caught the whisper of voices to the south west, and sprang off the tower, leaping across the street to the next rooftop and landing on stealthy feet. From this closer distance he could could identify Red’s voice, and that of another man. They were on the next building, which was two storeys taller. Peter crept across his rooftop, then lightly shot across the dark alley to the wall on the other side. Cautiously and quietly, he crept up the side of the building, stopping just below the parapet to listen.

“... haven’t heard a peep.”

“That could be cause for concern.” That was clearly Red.

“There’s only so much I can ask, you know that. Tower’s been pretty tight lipped.”

There was a rumble of assent from Red. Then he sighed and continued in a slightly louder tone. “You know, Detective, I’m not the only vigilante who’s keen to keep him powerless.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. But I’m not sure who you’re referring to.”

“I’m referring to him.”

“Who?”

“Over there.”

“Man, I can’t see anyone. And I can’t hear round corners, or whatever it is you do.” The other man sounded about done with this conversation.

“Spidey, come on out,” Red called.

Peter gulped. Of course Red had probably heard him coming blocks away. He stretched up, peeping over the top of the parapet, and saw two figures on the roof, lit by a dull orange security light. One looked to be Red, only he didn’t have on his armour or helmet, and the other was a man in an overcoat with a slightly severe air about him. They both had their heads turned towards him. Peter climbed all the way up and perched on top of the parapet, and waved a hand in greeting. “Evening, gentlemen.”

Red gestured towards him, then at the man in front of him. “Spider-Man, meet Detective Brett Mahoney of the 15th precinct.”

“Detective,” Peter nodded at Mahoney, ready to spring away if the man got too close.

Mahoney nodded back at him, then turned to Red. “You’re friends with Spider-Man. Why am I not surprised?”

Red shrugged, noncommittally, and Peter took a moment to examine his outfit. It was black and looked thin, like it offered no protection. His hands were wrapped like a cage fighter, and he had a thick black scarf covering the top half of his face. It didn’t look like something you could see through, and Peter wondered if Red didn’t care anymore who knew he couldn’t see at all.

“Hey Red, you know Mr. Stark could probably make you a new suit, if you want something light but protective. He’s good like that,” Peter offered.

Red gave an extremely derisive snort and muttered, “I imagine he is.”

“He know who you are?” Mahoney asked, and Red nodded. “You know who he is?”

“He’s Spider-Man. Doesn’t the suit give it away?”

“What would you know?” Mahoney pursed his lips and cut a look at Peter. “Why are you here, Spider-Man?

“I happened to be swinging through the neighbourhood.”

“Is that so. How old are you, kid?”

Peter shifted slightly, feeling uncomfortable. “That's not relevant.” He extended one arm, ready to shoot out a line and escape. 

Mahoney waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.” He turned back to Red, and Peter lowered his arm. “Look M- Um. Daredevil. You hear anything, you let me know.”

Red nodded. “You got it.” He reached out and patted Mahoney on the shoulder. “Look after yourself, Brett.” He turned and walked towards Peter.

Mahoney spread his arms in a gesture of exasperation. “You don't get to say that.” He pointed at Peter. “You watch yourself, son. Stay out of trouble, don't be like that guy.” Then he made for the roof access stairs.

“You're wearing your mask, aren't you?” Red asked, urgently.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Of course I am.”

“I guess he noticed that your voice is young. Anyway. How's it going?’

Peter jumped off the parapet and threw himself at Red, wrapping his arms around Red's middle. He felt himself start to shake. “I thought, I thought,” he whispered, swallowed and started again. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was dead,” Red rumbled, low and quiet. He raised his own arms and held Peter, warm and solid against his back. Peter hadn't felt this physically comforted by a man since Uncle Ben had died.

“What?” Peter pulled back to look into Red's face, wishing it wasn't covered by the mask. “What do you mean?” Red tilted his head and winced, not saying anything. Peter reluctantly let him go and stepped back, sitting on the parapet. Red joined him, close enough that Peter could almost feel his heat, but not touching. Red rolled his shoulders and ran a thumb back and forth along the inside seam of his trousers.

“Honestly, Pete, I don't think I can explain it. I was badly hurt, in more than one way. I was pretty lost.” He opened his mouth again, as though there was more he wanted to say, then closed it again.

“How did you come back?’

“My friends.”

“Foggy?”

“Yes. And Karen. And… and a nun I knew when I was a kid.”

“A _nun_?”

“Yeah.” Red was fiddling with the wraps on his hands. Peter waited. Eventually, Red spoke again. “I grew up in an orphanage run by nuns. And I discovered that one of them is, in fact, my mother.”

Peter sucked in a breath. “Your mother? You… you never knew?”

“No.”

Peter looked down at his own hands. “Did I tell you my parents are dead?”

Red shook his head. “No. But I guessed. You've said you live with your aunt.”

“What's it like suddenly getting a mom? Did you remember her?”

“She left when I was a baby. And it's… strange. We're working it out.” He turned to face Peter and plastered a smile on his face. “How are things with you? School? Your aunt? Your friend?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Everything is good. My marks have been great. Mr. Stark asked me to be an Avenger but I said no.”

Red exploded into laughter. He threw his head back and laughed and laughed, eventually pushing up the mask and wiping his eyes. He gasped and managed to say, “I bet that pissed him off,” before dissolving into another round of laughter.

“A little,” Peter said, smiling at Red and fistbumping the hand Red had held up. “Ned thought I was crazy.”

“I think you're smart.”

Peter felt a glow at the words. He leaned over, gently bumping Red's shoulder with his own. “Would it be okay if we met up regularly, you know, to patrol together?”

Red leaned back into him. “I'd like that, Pete. How about two weeks’ time?”

“That's Halloween, isn't it?”

Red shrugged. “Probably lots happening. If not, you can tell me about the costumes you see.” He yanked his mask down over his eyes.

“Great! I'll see you then.

 

**_____**

  


“Can I still keep calling you Red?” Peter was hanging upside down, swaying slightly in the breeze.

“What?”

“You know, the black pajamas,” Peter said, gesturing. “Are they permanent?” Red shrugged, noncommittally. “I was serious about Mr. Stark helping you out.”

“And I seriously want nothing to do with that asshole,” Red growled. “Seen anything interesting on your way through the city?”

“Oh yeah,” Peter laughed. “I saw three green plastic soldiers. And a cereal killer.”

“A serial killer?” Red said with a frown.

“Cereal with a ‘c’. She had boxes of breakfast cereal stuck to her shirt, with knives in them, and fake blood. It was awesome.” Red smiled. Peter dropped off his web, flipping neatly onto his feet, and peeked over the edge of the roof, looking down onto the street below. “There's a Subway baby down there!”

“A… what?”

“A baby in a stroller, wrapped up like a Subway sandwich. The logo’s all over the paper. I wonder if it's the real paper.”

Red snorted then turned his head sharply to the side, his face suddenly blank. “What is it?” Peter asked, tense. Red took off at a full run to the West, clearing the alley to the next roof, and Peter swung after him. Pausing on a water tower, as Red parkoured across the obstacles below, Peter heard screams. Now he had a target to aim for and he sprang off in that direction, leaving Red to catch up.

Reaching the source of the sound, Peter paused and peeked down into a packed courtyard lit by strings of pumpkin-orange paper lanterns. There were cobweb-draped skeletons positioned around the brick walls but the effect was more jovial than frightening. Or, rather, it would have been if it wasn’t for the three masked gunmen shouting over the still-pumping music, and the partygoers huddled on the ground. The three gunmen were dressed entirely in green - the plastic soldiers Peter had seen earlier. As far as Peter could see, no one had been injured and the hostage takers were waving their guns around, not aiming at anyone.

Peter dropped back out of sight and turned to see Red arrive. He crouched next to Peter, panting and listened for a moment then held up three fingers, his head tilted at Peter in question. Peter nodded in response, and whispered, “Any others coming?” Red shook his head in negation. “Me first,” Peter said, and Red nodded and moved off to the right, out of sight behind a tall vent.

Peter took another look to identify each of the three attackers before he jumped up, firing a line of web off to a taller wall on his left. He threw himself out, swinging in a wide arc and sending out three shots with his right hand, each one neatly lifting a gun out of the hands of its respective holder. He flicked the guns high out of reach and dumped them on the opposite rooftop before landing beside them and webbing them more securely to the roof.

He turned back just in time to see the startled look on the face of one of the now gun-less gunmen melt into blankness as Red delivered a solid punch to the side of his head. One of the two standing green men gave an angry shout and started towards Red, while the other ran for the exit. Peter hit the fleeing green man with a new line, webbing him neatly to one side of the doorframe. Red let out a yell and made one of his flippy spinny ninja moves through the air, kicking the remaining green man in the jaw. The man dropped like a sack of spuds, and Red stood for a moment, breathing hard.

The song playing on the stereo finished and for a few seconds there was silence in the courtyard. Then an orange-faced, green-haired oompa loompa jumped up from where he was crouching and shouted “Yeah, Spider-Man! Daredevil!” and punched the air. Peter felt his stomach drop at the oh-too-familiar voice, then the entire courtyard erupted into cheers. Why was this happening? How was Ned -

Red jumped up, grabbed a window frame, levered himself higher and leapt to the underside of a metal balcony. He pulled himself onto the balcony’s rail then made an impossible jump, pulling himself onto the rooftop beside Peter. He sank down onto the tar paper, lying full length on his back and taking deep lungfuls of the night air.

Peter watched the crowd below. The ridiculous, short oompa loompa kicked the leg of the green man Peter had webbed to the doorframe, then looked up to see Peter and waved. Peter shook his head in dismay. Beside him, Red grunted. “That’s your friend, isn’t it? Ned?” Reluctantly, Peter nodded. “What’s he doing in a courtyard bar?”

“What’s he doing in a bar? Well, that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? Or maybe we should be asking _how_ a sixteen year old is in a bar.”

Red sat up. “Cops are here.”

Peter moved away from the edge as he felt his anxiety climb. “Shit. Ned! We need to get him out of there.”

“I don't think there's anything we can do, Pete.”

Peter groaned. “C'mon, Double D. We've gotta do something. Can you, you know, lawyer up?”

Red pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask and sighed heavily.  “Someone’s just greeted Mahoney, so we need to talk to him. Get him and Ned up here.”

Peter looked back down into the emptying courtyard, where he could see two officers talking to Ned and examining his fake ID. Dammit. Ned had turned on the charm, but the officers didn’t seem convinced. Peter shook his head as he heard Ned proclaim, “Michael Simpson. Yep, that’s me.” One of the officers pulled a long object out of his pocket and held it up for Ned to blow into it, which he did until a green light came on.

Mahoney came into view and stood, hands on hips, looking down at Ned,and took the ID to examine himself. The officer showed Mahoney the breath tester, and Mahoney nodded. Ned quailed visibly, and Peter decided that this might be time to intervene. He crept over the edge of the roof and a short distance down the wall, staying high, and called down to Mahoney. “Excuse me, Detective.”

Mahoney spun on his heel, doing an exaggerated double take when he saw Peter. He then regained his composure, walking closer and pressing his lips into a thin line. “Evening, Spider-man.”

“I’ve got their guns up here for you.”

“How thoughtful of you. I'll send someone up to collect them.”

“For _you_ , Detective.” Peter lowered his vice. “And, um, there's someone else who wants to talk to you.”

Mahoney’s lips thinned even further. He turned back and jabbed a finger at Ned. “We're not finished here.” Ned tried to make himself a little smaller.

“Detective?” Slowly, Mahoney pivoted back towards Peter, and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Ah, maybe you could bring him with you?”

Mahoney’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Ah. Well.” Peter wasn't quite sure how to answer this question. “It might speed things up?”

Mahoney stared at Peter for several long moments then said to Ned, “You. With me.” He addressed the waiting officers, “Olsen, Johnson, you finish getting statements. I'll be back shortly.” Then he walked back through the door, Ned trailing meekly behind.

Peter scuttled back up the wall. “You catch all that?” he asked Red, who had drifted across the roof to the road side.

“They're coming up the stairs,” Red replied, pointing to the roof access door next to Peter. Peter jumped away to the top of a convenient wall and crouched down, waiting. Red leaned against the wall underneath him, arms crossed.

The door slammed open, and Mahoney emerged. Peter took a moment to marvel at the man’s full range of exasperated expressions. The one he was wearing right now was new to Peter, but it looked comfortable on Mahoney's face, as though he regularly wore it. Ned stepped onto the rooftop, looking particularly abashed, and closed the door quietly behind him.

“So. Who’s going to start?” Mahoney was standing with his hands in his pockets, glaring at Peter, Red and Ned, who had come to stand beside Red.

No one said anything. Mahoney sighed, and pulled the fake ID out of his pocket, reading it. “Michael Simpson.” He gave a derisive snort. “Michael is blond. Even with green hair you're clearly not a blond. Try harder. And stay out of bars, unless you’re with your parents. You’re just lucky you passed that breath test down there.”

“Thank you, Detective Mahoney.” Ned stepped forward, holding out his hand for the ID. Mahoney gave him a hard stare, and Ned dropped his hand and stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He scuffed his toe against the tar paper.

“You. Spider-Boy.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Red shook his head sharply, and Peter stayed quiet. “I appreciate your help.

“I… Uh. You’re welcome”

“But I have way too much shit to deal with on a daily basis to have to deal with yours as well. Go home to your momma -” Red twitched slightly, and Mahoney cut himself off, his eyes darting to Red, then started again. “Go home. Stay out of trouble and stick to age-appropriate activities. You hear me?”

Peter nodded, and was about to reply when Red cut in. “Oh come on, Brett.”

“And you!” Mahoney rounded on Red. “What do you think you're up to, encouraging kids to pull stunts like this.”

“Woah! I'm not responsible for anyone here,” Red said, his palms held out in placation.

“You think? You think no one watches what you're doing, running around in black pajamas? You really think your reckless behaviour doesn't affect anyone else?” Mahoney was starting to steam up, but fortunately Red seemed to work that out.

“Hey, Brett, I'm sorry. You're right. If it helps, Spidey put the guns over there,” Red said, pointing with his chin.

Mahoney walked over and squinted at the guns. Then he squatted down for a closer look, pulling a rubber glove on before jabbing at them. He made a small choking noise and clapped his hand over his mouth, his shoulders starting to shake. Peter and Ned exchanged a sideways look. Red was standing still, his head tilted and a half smile on his face.

Mahoney stood up, took a shuddering breath, and Peter suddenly realised that he was shaking with laughter. He half-turned towards them and pointed at the webbed guns, laughing so hard that tears started to run down his face. Ned leaned up towards Peter and whispered “I think we've sent him over the edge.” Peter shrugged, and they watched as Mahoney regained control.

“No one reported shots fired, did they?” Mahoney headed straight for the rooftop door, yanking it open and turning back to face the woeful trio. “I’m going to send one of the boys up in ten minutes to collect that evidence. You three had better be gone when they do. _And_ ,” he said, looking pointedly at Ned, “I had better not _ever_ see your sorry ass here in the Kitchen, at least until you’re 21 and can bring your own damn valid ID. Got it?”

“Yessir,” Ned said, meekly. Peter was going to have fun with this for weeks.

He waited for the roof door to close before dropping off the wall and landing next to Ned. “What are you doing, man? You’re sixteen! Why were you in a bar?”

“Uh,” Ned replied uncertainly. “I don’t know. I guess it looked like fun? And you’re sixteen, too! But why did Mahoney laugh at the guns?”

“Because they're toys,” Red snorted. “Pete, are you going to be able to get him off the roof?”

“You, like, _know_ Daredevil?” Ned squeaked. Red’s head snapped round to face him, and Ned closed his mouth tightly.

“Yeah, course I can, Double-D.” Red started walking away, so Peter called after him, “Don’t forget our standing date. I’ll text you!” Red flipped him the bird, and melted into the dark.

“You know…” Ned said, slowly. “I think he reminds me of someone.”

“Dude, _no he doesn’t_. And your costume sucks. Let’s get out of here before we need to call Foggy. C’mon.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, check out my other works.
> 
> I started a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/runpogorun) so come and follow me!


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